Romance Of The Single Bullet
by LieutenantX
Summary: A/U: Old West, Vash/Meryl romance. Meryl follows the mysterious gunfighter Vash the Stampede across the Wild West.
1. Chapter 1

The same infinite blackness, a blank page on which the universe was written. A little boy hung over an imaginary ledge, his body supported on nothing, his head hanging upside down over the edge of whatever drop he had fathomed. Dirty blonde hair pointed itself toward a nonexistent ground. He smiled and giggled.  
  
"So what are we going to do this time?" The same boy... yet not the same. They seemed perfectly identical, even to visible age, but this one held himself in a more calm manner. He seemed cold to the touch, bitter towards existence for some great, mystical injustice. He paced towards his younger, or perhaps not, doppelganger with folded arms and leaned against the imaginary precipice, the little boy's head looking past him, trying to focus on something not there. The older boy lowered his head, chin almost to his chest, and replied.  
  
"Well, what do you want the subject of tonight's show to be?" The younger boy giggled. "Let's use Cowboy Bebop!" "I think that Inuyasha would be best."  
  
"What about our original story?"  
  
"We must rework that. It's too much for tonight."  
  
The younger boy rolled onto his stomach, the precipice suddenly extending out far enough for him to prop his head on his elbow. "Well, then what?" "Perhaps we should sleep again."  
  
"Quiet, both of you!" Yet a third apparition of the boy, identical to the first two, yet this one held his head high, looking out with dark eyes, watching both his copies. They both turned their heads to look at him. He had appeared to their left, his feet firmly planted on an imaginary ceiling. He walked to a point directly over the first two. The depressed one put his chin back to his chest. The little boy rolled onto his back and looked at the tall apparition. "Well," Number Two began, "If you can think of an idea, please tell us, Zero." "I was leaning towards Trigun myself, actually."  
  
"I'm outvoted again." "What a shame, Face, what a shame." Face sighed and shook his head.  
  
"Fine. Let's just get going. I think I'll go back to sleep soon..."  
  
Disclaimer: We, the Trinity of The Mind, make absolutely no claim of ownership to anything in this fanfic. However, we are proud Texans, and wear our Texanism... "I don't think that's a word." "Can it." ...on our sleeves. We own ourselves. If you put us anywhere besides here, you will be sued. Thank you!  
  
Romance of the Single Bullet  
  
Bang. Meryl Strife winced. She was used to gunfire. She had been around it most of her life. But it had always been in a great multitude. A good gunslinger could kill a man with eight bullets, twelve on a bad day. But the gun she heard now had never fired more than one at a time. Vash the Stampede never needed more than one.  
  
Texas. The promised land of the west. Whisper it in the bars and back alleys of New York. Whisper it in the brothels Pittsburgh. Whisper it to the railroad workers in Montana. Texas. A place where the land was young and free. Texas. A place where the law bordered the wild, and if you didn't like one, it was just a short walk to the other. Texas. A place where more and more would look at the New Mexican desert stretching ahead, and decide that this was a good stopping point. Not him. Who was this man she was following? A notorious outlaw. A man worth more money than a fleet of barges loaded with Chinese silk. This man she followed day and night, yet never ever spoke to. She had never seen him kill; she had never seen him smile, cry, or bleed. This was the notorious outlaw. She followed Vash the Stampede. Why did she do this? One day he had walked through her hometown, and performed a miracle. From that day on she followed him, like a Jesus Christ of the West. Meryl gathered her cloak around her, and prepared herself for the scene she would see. She finished tying her horse to the hitching post and again looked about the town they had stopped in. He had stopped in. It was just like almost every other town west of Philadelphia. Batwing doors on the shops. A tiny saloon, three bedrooms on the second floor. A blacksmith's, a cobbler's, a barber's, and a doctor's home sitting where one would expect a sheriff's office. Nothing else she hadn't seen a dozens of times before. She pattered her horse on the nose, her index finger scratching a bright white splotch between it's nostrils. It looked at her with sad brown eyes, then tossed it's head and went to work chewing on a patch of scrubgrass growing between the saloon's raised porch and the dirt beneath it. She slipped quietly through the batwing doors, surveying the scene. A nameless cowboy slumped against a far wall, his gun inches out of reach. The entire building stared at Vash the Stampede, no one capable of making eye contact behind the lenses of the glasses he wore. She had never seen him without them. They hid his eyes from the world. Why? Did they hide shame? Anger? Fear? The barrel of his gun was still smoking. He calmly holstered it and took an empty seat at the bar as if nothing had happened.  
  
"Did you see that?" ran a hushed whisper.  
  
"He shot Keith!"  
  
Several people repeated this to each other. It seemed to Meryl that Keith had been the town's better gunslinger. He had apparently just met one even better. Meryl took the seat that Keith had kindly vacated and watched Vash down the line of barstools. They sat at near opposite ends, but she knew exactly where he was. In the time she had followed however, he had never, not once, acknowledged her presence. Not so much as a look or a word. What she wanted to know was why had he done it this time? A doctor ran in, wearing the black suitcoat of all western doctors, and opened his bag. She watched out of the corner of her eye, and listened quietly. "How bad is it, Doc?"  
  
"Well, I'll be."  
  
"What?"  
  
"No seious bleeding, no organs hit. He's given Keith here the gunfighting equivalent of a good punch in the teeth. Come on, let's take him over..."  
  
"Hey. Do you want..." The bartender asked her.  
  
Mery waved him away. She had missed a snippet of the conversation. "...fine in a few hours. I don't believe it. Someone finally put the dumb thug in his place..."  
  
Vash the Stampede rode a brown horse west. Meryl followed on her own. They had left the tiny town behind them, and now there was nothing ahead. Nothing but the desert. Tall rocks jutted across the horizon, and dust devils twirled across their path. An odd patch of grass stuck out here and there, all their horses would have to eat, out here. A lizard caught Meryl's eye as it darted beneath a rock. There were two hundred miles between Vash the Stampede and Santa Fe, the only logical place Meryl thought he would go. He trudged on, silent as always. They had ridden like this for what seemed like an eternity. From Louisiana across Texas, and now into New Mexico. What had he been after all this time? What was he doing? She couldn't even begin to guess. For all this time, she had ridden behind him, staying back, sometimes three yards, sometimes twenty. Finally, he did something that took her completely by surprise. He stopped. She stopped as well, rearing her horse. She looked at him, even more puzzled than she had been before. He turned his horse, so that she saw him in profile, and then did the strangest thing. He looked at her. She was under the gaze of the most dangerous human being west of the Mississippi. Vash the Stampede was looking directly at her. Her heart began to pound. He opened his mouth to speak, and she felt infinitely nervous at what he might say. Was he angry? Would he hurt her? Would he simply laugh at her?  
  
"You can turn around now, if you want." He said. "I have a long road ahead of me, and I think that I'm the only person who needs to walk it. You should go home and forget you ever saw me."  
  
He turned his horse around again and picked up the same pace he had had before.  
  
"No." She yelled, the first word she'd ever said to him. He stopped again, but did not look at her.  
  
"I've followed you this far. I'm not leaving you to face the desert alone."  
  
"It's not just the desert. My path is dangerous, and you shouldn't be a part of it." "I'm used to danger. I've followed you."  
  
She thought she sensed something, a sort of sorrow, flow from the man.  
  
"I'm... I'm sorry..."  
  
He began to ride away again. She kicked her horse forward and, another first, pulled up alongside him.  
  
"I didn't mean it that way. I've been in danger my whole life and..."  
  
His face remained emotionless, the same grim mask of determination it had always been. "Hey, are you listening to me?"  
  
He showed absolutely no sign that he had heard her.  
  
"Hey!"  
  
She slapped him. His sunglasses flew off, landing in the dirt, and a red hand mark began to grow on his face. His horse stopped again. He looked at her, and she saw his eyes. Bright, blue eyes, eyes that looked at the world and... And laughed!  
  
"I take it you're not going to leave."  
  
"Of course not!" She yelled, still trying to be angry, although that emotion was fading fast. "Fine." He said. He rode on. 'How could a cold blooded outlaw have eyes like those?' she asked herself. She looked down at the sunglasses he had left in the sand. She dismounted from her horse and bent down to pick them up. She brushed most of the sand off them, and blew most of the rest off as well. She slipped them into her jacket pocket, remounted her horse, and rode back to Vash. She hung behind him again.  
  
After awhile, she tentatively brought her horse up to ride beside him. Although he took no notice, she felt glad for the company.  
  
Vash did not say anything else until they had stopped for the night. When the sun began to set, he stopped and dismounted. Meryl followed suit. He laid out his bedroll, and opened a saddlebag. He withdrew a tent and a bag of jerky. Meryl did the same with her own gear. Finally, he said, "Make sure you use your blanket. The desert gets very cold at night."  
  
Meryl, who had only seen the Louisiana bayou and Texas prairie in her lifetime took this in as new information, took her saddle blanket and threw it in the tent with the few other things she'd taken off.  
  
That night, shivering with his sunglasses clutched in her fist, she dreamt of her first meeting with Vash the Stampede. The dream came in fragments, as dreams often do, bits and pieces surfacing and falling under again. Millie... Wolfwood... guns... money... They came back to her for the first time in years. The dream came to her in four images, over and over.  
  
The first image. Wolfwood and Millie, sitting on the porch of the Our Father ranch house, the baby cradled in Millie's arms. Smiling. Laughter. Wolfwood's harmonica. Sunlight playing over them all. Herself sitting in the shade of an apple tree across the road and watching the two.  
  
The second image. Money. Guns. Greed. Wolfwood standing on the porch of the Our Father ranch house, a rifle replacing his harmonica, a scowl replacing his smile. Millie and the baby cowering inside. Eight of the most notorious outlaws east of the Mississippi standing on Wolfwood's lawn. Sunset playing over them. Herself standing in the shade of an apple tree across the road, watching them. They wanted it all, they wanted everything, and they would not compromise.  
  
Bang. Third image. A single bullet. Vash the Stampede stood in the center of the road, the barrel of the gun smoking. His sunglasses hiding his eyes from the world. Herself, wondering what those eyes could hold. Anger? Sadness? Fear? (Laughter?)  
  
Vash laughed. Suddenly, in her dream, Vash laughed and laughed and laughed.  
  
Fourth image. Wolfwood standing bewildered on the porch of the Our Father ranch house. The bandits dragging away their fallen leader. Vash the Stampede walking on down the road as if nothing had ever happened. Herself seeing this man go, this man who had overcome an insurmountable obstacle with a single bullet. Herself leaving the shade of the apple tree to follow.  
  
Vash laughed and laughed and laughed.  
  
Meryl awoke. It was still dark. The fire crackled, burning down. She sat at it's edge, shivering. She rubbed her hands together in a vain attempt to warm them. Her teeth began to chatter. Vash coughed from inside his tent.  
  
"Meryl." He said. She looked up at where she figured he would be inside the tent.  
  
"Yes?" "Why did you follow me?" Meryl hadn't really thought this through herself quite yet, so she simply told him what she'd told herself. "Because you performed a miracle."  
  
Vash was quiet for a long time.  
  
"Did I really?"  
  
Her answer came a good deal faster, with a small smile. "Yes, Vash, you did. You saved an innocent family from impossible odds." "Good."  
  
"Is this what the famous outlaw Vash the Stampede does with his life? Chase down riffraff?"  
  
"No." "Well, then, what do you do?" Vash sighed.  
  
"If we're going to have this discussion, it needs to be face to face."  
  
She heard movement in his tent.  
  
"I'll come out there and."  
  
He threw open the tent flap and caught a blast of desert night air.  
  
"Better yet, you come in here."  
  
"WHAT?"  
  
"No, no! Would you rather freeze?" Meryl looked at him, then at her blue fingers, and decided Vash was the better looking of the two. She stood, dusted herself off, and ducked into his tent. He closed the flap and sat on one end of his bedroll, folding his legs and looking as serious as he could in his pajamas, and she sat on the other.  
  
"I'm chasing someone. Someone dangerous. When I meet him, you'll be at an incredible risk." Meryl nodded.  
  
"He's killed many people, and I have to stop him before he hurts more innocents." Meryl thought quietly about this. She felt inside her pocket and found his sunglasses. She took them out, opened them, and looked at her own reflection in the lens. Then she closed them and handed them to their rightful owner. He seemed surprised. "Thank you."  
  
His hand brushed hers as he took them and put them in the pocket of his coat, which was folded and apparently was being used as a pillow. "No one has done me a favor for quite some time now." Meryl smiled. "So, how did it feel?"  
  
"It felt nice." He said. He smiled at her, the beginning of a laugh forming in his throat. He looked at Meryl and then he, not really knowing why, he laughed. He laid back and laughed until tears came to his eyes. Slowly, he stopped, the mirth becoming bearable bit by bit, and he examined where he had come to rest. He was lying on his back, looking up at Meryl. His head was on her folded legs. "Thank you." He repeated, and sat up.  
  
He turned towards her, and his hand brushed hers again. He looked at her. She looked at him. 'Could he... Could I... Am I in...' Meryl thought to herself, mostly unintelligibly. There was a moment of understanding, that final, slight nod of mutual agreement. Their heads moved closer together. She kissed Vash the Stampede. That night, Meryl did not think or speak. She felt.  
  
Vash's hand came up and touched her cheek. His lips were so warm, so soft, not like other men, who smelled of cattle and gunsmoke, tasted of grit and steel. Vash's lips were almost like a woman's, so gentle, so caring...  
  
That night, she lost herself in the arms of the man she loved.  
  
They rode together, across the desert, towards Santa Fe. Days had passed. Meryl looked sidelong at Vash.  
  
"Who are you chasing?" She asked. Every time she'd spoken to him since that night, he had always answered her, those laughing eyes mocking the world, but now, his face fell, his demeanor changed, and he looked ahead.  
  
"Vash, answer me!" "No."  
  
"Who?"  
  
She thought of all the viscous outlaws of New Mexico that she'd ever heard of. None had ever done anything to make someone like Vash ride after them. So who? She grumbled and shook her head, her horse dropping a few paces back.  
  
The next day, Meryl looked across the horizon. Through the shimmering heat, she thought she could make out a town. She shaded her eyes with one hand. Yes! It was a town! She cheered and kicked her horse into a trot. Vash did not follow. She looked back once. 'Fine. If he's not thirsty, than he can just stay back there.' Meryl kicked her horse into a gallop. The only thought on her mind was that town's well. She had to get to it, she had to! Her waterskins had been emptied last night cooking dinner, and her mouth tasted like dirt. Her throat felt as dry as the desert around her. She reared her horse at the well, taking up the center of the town square. It seemed normal enough. A crossroads at the well, building lining either side. She dropped from the horse and ran to the well. Wheeling up the bucket, she laughed as she heard water slosh inside. She grabbed the bucket and drank deeply. The water tasted sweet! So wonderful! She sent the bucket down again and took one of her waterskins in one hand, popping the cork and getting ready to refill it. As she waited for the bucket to fill again, she finally took a good look at the town around her.  
  
Realization hit her like a lightning bolt. Something was very, very wrong. Tentatively, she shouted:  
  
"Hello?"  
  
No one answered. Vash finally rode into the town square. He wore his glasses, hiding his eyes from no one. Except for herself and Vash, the entire town was deserted. She looked around her, and noticed something she hadn't before. Behind her was the tallest building in the town, three stories. The third floor was windowless, most likely an attic. Across the clay that had been used to build it, a single word had been scrawled in red: KNIVES. Meryl looked at the red for a moment. She had seen that shade, many times. Blood.  
  
Laughter filled the air. Vash's hand went for his gun. He looked about for any threat, anything. A single figure stood at the top of the building, laughing. Vash drew and levelled his gun at the man. He stopped his cackling long enough to address Vash.  
  
"It's been a long time, hasn't it, Vash the Stampede?" Meryl backed towards Vash. He took a protective stance in front of her. He hissed under his breath.  
  
"Legato." Legato raised his arms in a gesture of humility.  
  
"Yes, that's me all right. Oh, by the way, I watched your, ah, woman there. I would like you to know, Master Knives is very clean about his work, but of course..." Legato extended one hand. Then, something remarkable happened. Aside from Vash's gunfighing skill, it was the single most incredible thing Meryl had ever seen in her lifetime. The winch on the well began to wind itself. Not only by itself, but at an insane pace, so that it was only a moment before the bucket came into view. Releasing whatever hold he had on the winch, Legato cast the bucket out of the well, spilling the water across the sandy street. When he spoke again, his voice suddenly rose into near hysterics, a lunatic delivering the punch line for a sick joke in front of an audience of victims to his crimes. "But he has to put them all somewhere!" His face twisted into an expression of psychotic glee, and Legato lost himself in a small world of his own that would have made David Lynch proud. Meryl looked at the water in the street. It was the same shade of red that was on the side of the building. A second comprehension struck Meryl. The town, everyone... She saw mother's watch their children laugh as they played by the well. The well that became their grave. She dropped to her knees and vomited into the sand. Vash did not move. "Legato, I'm warning you now! Give up and come with me!"  
  
Legato dragged himself back to reality.  
  
"Me? No, I'm afraid not, Mr. Stampede. You see, I've been instructed by Mr. Knives himself..."  
  
Legato raised his hand again and yanked the rope and bucket clear of the well. They flew threw the air, and began to encircle Legato, like a snake and it's charmer.  
  
"...Not to leave here until you have learned a certain lesson." The end of the rope began to tie itself into a knot. Vash's gun remained pointed at Legato, at the tiny spot on the human body where he had shot Keith, shot everyone. The knot made itself clearer. It wasn't a knot. It was a noose. Vash couldn't tell why he was doing that. He could shoot the rope off of himself even dangling through the air. Then, a tug on his coat. He looked down. Meryl struggled to her feet, wiping her mouth, a dark, defeated look in her eyes. His own eyes snapped back to Legato.  
  
"No-"  
  
The rope lashed out, and Vash fired. The bullet severed the roped at the middle, the back half falling limp. The front half continued, streaking towards Meryl. It snapped her up, like a hungry predator, and dragged her backwards. She gurgled his name. He fired another bullet. This one caught the knot, scattering loose fibers and causing even more of the rope drop to the dirt, only rope once more. The remainingpart of the know pinned her against a wall, pulling her up against it. Her hands gripped the noose tightly. It wasn't choking her much, at least, not yet. He raised his gun at Legato and fired, the bullet aiming for the magic, disabling point. Sparks flew from beneath Legato's clothes. The man remained standing. He was wearing a metal plate over it! "Sorry, Vash. You can't beat me that easily."  
  
Suddenly, the rope began to constrict. Meryl's eyes bulged out and she began to claw at the rope. She opened and closed her mouth, trying to gulp air.  
  
"Time to choose, Vash. Who lives, and who dies."  
  
Vash shook his head.  
  
"No one has to die."  
  
He looked at Meryl and raised his gun. He drew a bead on the rope. There was nothing left of it, though, nothing but what was around her neck. His aim wavered. He couldn't risk it. He couldn't risk hurting her. Damn it all! He had warned her! His gun went back to Legato.  
  
"Let her go!"  
  
"I will."  
  
Legato smiled.  
  
"After you kill me."  
  
Vash gritted his teeth.  
  
"What, are you crazy? Are you just going to throw your life away?"  
  
Legato's smile widened and a hint of the madess he'd shown earlier twinkled in his eye. He raised his hand higher. Meryl's eyes rolled back into her head. Her feet left the ground.  
  
"She's only going to last a few more seconds, Vash."  
  
The world spun in front of Meryl's eyes. Everything was red. Red. The blood. The people. Vash. Legato. Knives. She couldn't breathe! Breathe! Breathe! Alarms went off in her brain. A red haze... everything slipping away... She fought it, she clawed at her captor with all her strength, trying to break free. But still, she felt her strength giving out. She felt her arms drop to her sides. The world swam before her eyes as she slipped away...  
  
Even then, she heard it, she heard it as clearly as if she had been standing next to him.  
  
Bang.  
  
She dropped to the ground. She breathed deeply once, decided it was the greatest breath she'd ever drawn, and immediately passed out. 


	2. The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Vash being in the old west and all, this seems like a golden opportunity for him to confront perhaps the only man who could bring him down. Think about it. There's only one cowboy that walks the wild west who even has a chance. That's why I call this chapter...  
  
A Geographical Note: Although Vash arrives in Cimarron, Cimarron is actually located in northwest New Mexico, and Vash technically should not have passed through it going from Texas to Santa Fe.  
  
Chapter 2: The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly  
  
Meryl didn't know how she'd done it. When she came to, Vash was half-dead, lying on his back, his face wet with tears. He wouldn't speak or move. She paid little attention to the corpse of Legato, but carried Vash to the horse and slung him across the back. She gathered everything she could. She noticed that his sunglasses had fallen off and lay in the sand again. She picked them up and put them in her cloak. She was still thirsty, and still out of water. Legato's body now had a large hole in it's forehead. His face had been frozen forever in a maniacal grin. Nervously, she rifled through the dead man's clothes. Even someone as strange as he was still needed to drink. Her search had netted her a pouch of dried beef jerky and three full water skins, a fourth skin half-empty. She had let a few drops fall from each, Legato was just crazy enough that they might have been from... She still couldn't think about it. Then she mounted her horse and rode. She rode day and night, pusahing herself and her horse to their limits, until they had seen a town off in the horizon. She had smiled, her water had run out again. The horse stumbled. She groaned, lacking the strength to yell at it. It collapsed in the sand, exhausted. Vash's legs were pinned beneath it's flank, and Meryl had to collect her very thirsty thoughts from where they'd fallen in the sand. She hobbled to her feet and put her arms underneath Vash's, dragging him towards town. She walked as far as she could, the town inching closer. Finally, without her permission, her legs gave out and she slumped on the side of the road. She had to go on! She couldn't...  
  
Then, she was lifted. Vash was moving! It took everything she had, but she hung onto him, her arms wrapped around his neck as he carried her, wavering with each step, but never falling. She heard shouts from the town. Apparently, Vash did too. He promptly collapsed.  
  
Santa Fe, the Oasis of New Mexico. In the center of one of the most godforsaken deserts on this earth, the city thrived. Here, in a tiny sheriff's office, the batwing doors opened. Before the deputy stood a tall cowboy, hat on his head, bandanna around his neck, and guns at his hips. Stubble covered his face. "Howdy, stranger." Greeted the deputy, taking his boots of the sheriff's desk.  
  
"Sorry, but the sheriff's out right now, but..."  
  
The stranger cut him off. His voice was dark and gravelly, and struck a twinge of fear in the deputy's heart, almost as much as what he'd said with it.  
  
"Vash the Stampede."  
  
There was an awkward silence. "So you're a bounty hunter?" The stranger cleared his throat.  
  
"Fine, fine."  
  
The deputy opened his desk and procured a poster. "This is all we've got." He handed it to the stranger. The stranger tipped his hat and left as quickly as he came.  
  
$60,000,000,000 WANTED: VASH THE STAMPEDE DEAD OR ALIVE For crimes of: MASS ARSON, ARMED ROBBERY, AND GENOCIDE Tall. Red coat, blonde hair, yellow sunglasses.  
  
ARMED AND LUDICROUSLY DANGEROUS!  
  
Meryl sputtered as she sat up, cold water running down her face. "W-where am I?"  
  
She asked. All she could make out were dark shapes. "The town of Cimarron. You're lucky you're alive." Gradually, the shapes defined themselves. A few men were crouched around her. One held a bucket, connected by a rope to a well. She leapt to her feet.  
  
"Vash!"  
  
"What?" "Vash! Where is he?" "What, him?" Vash was laying on the other side of the well, stretched out on his back. She grabbed the bucket away from the man and dropped it back down the well. As they watched, she quickly winched it back up and took it carefully. She dropped to her knees at his side. His face was crusted with sand. She brushed it aside and lifted the pail to his lips. She listened to the water splash down his throat. He coughed, spat, and gurgled for a moment. She stopped. His eyes fluttered open. "Meryl..."  
  
"Shh. Drink this."  
  
She tipped the water back to his lips, and he drank until it was empty. She stood, moving to refill it. When she turned around again, the men were staring at her with hard looks. "You said Vash."  
  
It was then that she noticed the gold star pinned to the vest of their leader.  
  
"You wouldn't mean Vash the Stampede?"  
  
Thinking fast, she lied top the sheriff. "No, no, of course not."  
  
She dropped the pail back down the well.  
  
"A red coat, blonde hair, and yellow sunglasses."  
  
"He sure looks like Vash the Stampede." Meryl winched the bucket back up.  
  
"He's not. I can promise you."  
  
She turned her back to them and knelt again by Vash's side. As she put one hand behind his head, she saw that he was crying. He mumbled to himself, she couldn't understand. It pained her to watch it, but she helped in the most urgent way right now. She put the pail to his lips and told him to drink. He did so until it was empty again. She sighed and wiped one of his tears. He didn't seem to notice. She lifted him to his feet with a grunt and leaned him on one of her shoulders. She turned towards the men.  
  
"Well?" "A red coat and blonde hair."  
  
"But what about the sunglasses?"  
  
"What?" "He's got no sunglasses."  
  
Meryl felt his sunglasses in her cloak's pocket, where she had put them days ago. "Fine, fine. We'll look into it, but for now, let's get him to a bed."  
  
The sheriff took Vash's other arm, and together they helped him to the saloon.  
  
The man with no name rode across the desert. He hardly said a word, these days. He gave out justice where it was deserved, and he pursued those that hurt the innocent as far as they chose to run. Cimarron. Vash the Stampede was in Cimarron, and that's where the man with no name was headed. He would give Vash the Stampede the justice he deserved. A bullet between the eyes.  
  
The world came back to Vash the stampede. He had killed a man. He had committed an unforgivable sin. He sat up in bed. The room swam wildly, and he returned to his laying position. Legato had wanted it. He had wished for death at the command of Knives. Knives had killed the entire town... His thoughts wandered until the door opened. He turned his head to look at Meryl as she entered the room. She smiled.  
  
"Oh, good, you're awake! I'm so glad, Vash."  
  
Setting down the bag of food she carried, she sat on the edge of his bed and put one hand on his forehead.  
  
"Are you all right?"  
  
Vash looked away.  
  
"I killed him." All the light drained from Meryl's eyes. "You've never killed anyone before, have you?"  
  
Vash shook his head.  
  
"I've seen that look on people I've known." She continued. She didn't say that Vash's expression was the same as the ones she'd seen multiplied a hundred times. She sighed.  
  
"Here, all I can do is make you some lunch."  
  
She went back to her bag.  
  
"But I suppose for you it would be breakfast. Fine, oatmeal it is." Vash looked out the window. A bird flew.  
  
The man with no name made camp that night next to a milestone that read: Cimarron, 6 miles.  
  
The next day, Vash looked at himself in the mirror. He took a long hard look at himself. Legato, or Blue Rivers, the name given to him by the Cherokee that he had lived with for half his life. He had met the man before, so steeped in shamanism that he knew how to read men's thoughts. He wore a skull on his left shoulder, the skull of his teacher, the source of his strength. During one of their battles, a battle which had given Vash the scars that horrified so many, Vash had tried to destroy it. His bullets had merely zinged around it as Legato cackled and Knives watched...  
  
"Come on, brother! You can do so much better! Fight him! He's only human, after all!" Knives cackled. Vash's chest heaved. A metal spike had impaled his right arm, blood flowing freely from around it. Legato smiled, his eyes widened in his madness as he summoned the spirits of warriors long dead to fight once more, turning everything into a flying, dangerous foe. "Master, I doubt that he will kill me. He doesn't seem to want to take life."  
  
Knives sat in a rocking chair on the saloon porch, smoking a cigarette. Inside, the piano played ragtime, although it's player lay slumped across a pool table, the red of his blood staining the green felt. Three pool cues, a half-finished game of billiards, and a few empty beer bottles were scattered around it as well, along with Knives' cigarette stubs. Vash knew that it was John Chapel sitting at the piano, and knew that his infamous weapon lay next to him. It fit him, a wolf in sheep's clothing. John Chapel was another madman, although from Vash's position, it seemed the lunatics had gained control of the asylum. "Well, what are we going to do, dammit? I'm getting bored. Brother, you really should think about joining our merry little band. It'll be so much fun! Why, we could move on to larger cities, and destroy anyone we see!"  
  
Vash coughed and spat a wad of blood. His jacket was tattered, an insane amount of bullet holes filling the fabric, although the wounds on his body did not match them. Knives had put them there, sending off dozens of shots while he and Legato had fought, mostly to keep himself occupied, since he knew Vash could easily dodge them, though they tore through the folds of his coat constantly. "I doubt he wants to do that, either."  
  
"Well, what are we going to do?!"  
  
Knives was beginning to get angry. "I have a suggestion." "Please! By all means! Liven this up a bit!"  
  
Vash wavered on his feet. Inside the saloon, the piano player's corpse twitched. Next to him, a cowboy, lying in a scattered mess of playing cards, brushed away the ace of spades that had been jokingly taken from his hand and placed over the gaping hole in his face. Chapel hit a sour note as he heard footsteps behind him. He snatched up his cross, tapping the spring- release that turned it into the lethal twin guns he had been known to wield. His eyes widened behind his glasses as he watched the dead walk out the door. He shook his head as he tossed the guns to the floor and went back to his playing, understanding Legato's twisted idea.  
  
The walking dead appeared in every window and doorway. They advanced on where Vash stood. Knives laughed.  
  
"Excellent! Go on, brother! They're already dead, after all! What good is it to leave them like that? Come on now! I know you're such a wonderful shot, it's not like you're going to miss! Come on, brother! Shoot them! Shoot me! Shoot Legato! Shoot something, dammit!"  
  
'I am no monster. Knives is a monster.'  
  
The man with no name rode into Cimarron, and tied his horse to the post outside the saloon.  
  
Meryl had left Vash's sunglasses next to his gun. He picked them up and slid them into his jacket pocket. He combed his hair back into the tall spikes, and shaved his stubble with a few quick swipes of the razor. He left the room, and appeared on the stairs at the same moment the man with no name opened the batwing doors.  
  
The saloon became deadly quiet. Some whispered to themselves, "It IS Vash the Stampede..." Others watched the man with no name, cowering away from the sheer aura of danger he radiated.  
  
"You're Vash the Stampede." The man with no name said.  
  
Vash nodded.  
  
"I'm sorry, I can't fight you now. I have too much left to do. I need to go on living."  
  
The man with no name smiled.  
  
"Dying ain't much of a living, boy."  
  
He aimed both guns and fired, shattering a perfectly harmless whisky bottle and putting a hole in the wall behind Vash. Screams filled the saloon, and Vash disappeared back into the back rooms. The man with no name followed, both his guns drawn. An open door and open window led to the street. He dashed back down the stairs and out the doors, chasing his quarry.  
  
Vash stood in the center of Cimarron's main street. The man with no name dashed out into the center of the dirt track, his poncho flapping around his shoulders as he skidded to a stop, his boots kicking up dust that blew away on the wind. He smiled as he looked at Vash. About fifty feet lay between the men as they stood on the deserted main street, passers-by having ducked behind the nearest shelter available. Meryl watched with fascination from the window of the General Store. Vash hadn't simply defeated the man and been done with it already. What could that mean? The man with no name snapped open the breaches on his guns. Through a trick of springs, the two brass casings left over from the man's earlier shots at Vash were dropped in the sand, while the bullets popped halfway out. The man with no name's hands went to his belt, where they withdrew two bullets. As he loaded them in, he spoke to Vash. His voice was quiet, though Vash could still hear him perfectly, even at the distance they were apart.  
  
"You know, sometimes you've just got to ask yourself a question..."  
  
He snapped the revolvers closed simultaneously.  
  
"Do I feel lucky?" With a trickshooter's twirl, he dropped both the guns back in their holsters. Vash reached into his pocket and withdrew his sunglasses. He calmly slid them onto his face. "Well, do you, punk?" Vash didn't reply. He knew the man wouldn't back down, no matter what he said. He would have to fight again. The man with no name narrowed his eyes at Vash at hovered a hand above his right pistol. "Ready..."  
  
Silence in Cimarron.  
  
"DRAW!" They drew simultaneously, each gun becoming only a blur. The man with no name rolled to the right, a bullet zinging through the space where he had been a moment before. Meryl gasped inside the store. It was the first time she'd ever seen Vash miss. Vash dashed to his own right, heading to dive behind cover. The man with no name rolled into a kneeling position, his left arm bent in front of him, crossing beneath his shooting arm to steady it. He drew a bead on Vash as he ran, pulled the hammer back on his pistol, and...  
  
Bang. Vash crashed into the dirt, not moving, face down. Meryl cried out from inside the town store and ran towards the street. Another onlooker grabbed her and held her back as the man with no name approached the motionless body. He dropped his gun back in it's holster. He circled Vash, kicking his gun far out of reach. Just in case. He shook his head.  
  
"It ain't enough for what you've done, but it's all I can do."  
  
He looked up at the sky for a moment and withdrew a cigarette from beneath his poncho, and a match from his blue jeans pocket. He looked down as he raised his boot to strike the match across the heel and took another look at his former quarry. Who was now lying on his back. "Oh, hell."  
  
"Excuse me, mister, I think I tripped in a pothole. Do you think you could give me a hand up? I'm a little dizzy."  
  
The man with no name swore and dragged Vash to his feet. Then, he reached back and threw a hard right cross at Vash's nose. Vash leaned back, then blow whizzing by his face. "Hey, now, let's discuss-"  
  
He didn't finish. The man with no name clocked him in the teeth. Vash stumbled around for a moment before the man hit him again. And again, and a few more times for good measure. Finally, Vash stumbled and fell, his nose bleeding.  
  
Vash wasn't sure exactly where he was. He knew his head hurt, his nose hurt, and there were some strangely hard objects loose in his mouth. Oh, that and all he could see was this strange, endless, spinning blue. The spinning was getting a little nauseating. Could you stop the world, please? I'd like to get off... Vash groaned. A dirty, stubbly face filled his vision. "You're not the man I'm lookin' for." "What?" "You're not the guy I'm after." Vash nodded.  
  
"I see."  
  
The man nodded and walked to his horse, digging through the saddlebags. Vash lifted himself off the earth, although it felt more like he was lifting the earth off of him. He shook his head to clear it and stumbled towards the man with no name, who was rifling through his saddlebags for something or other. "He's in Santa Fe."  
  
The man with no name stopped for a moment, and nodded.  
  
"Thank you."  
  
Meryl watched this exchange with a small amount of amazement. After that, she decided it was more or less over. She ran to Vash's side and pulled him toward the doctor's by one arm. He held his head with the other, complaining.  
  
"Ow! That hurts! Don't pull so hard!" The man with no name shook his head and mounted his horse. He rode back out of Cimarron the way he had come.  
  
Ladies and Gentlemen, the only cowboy who ever had a chance of hauling in Vash the Stampede, let's have a big round of applause for Clint Eastwood, the Man With No Name. 


	3. Chapter 3

"In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, your sins are forgiven. Go in the light of God."  
  
Chapel made the sign of the cross along with the woman that knelt before him. He stood before the altar of one of Santa Fe's many churches. Knives stretched out on the first row of pews, watching the clergyman go about his duties, a string of white prayer beads loosely wrapped about his left hand, and a beaten up cowboy hat on his head. He had come to this church to aid the current Priest that resided there for a day or two, before he massacred them all, with help from Knives of course. Knives clicked his tongue in annoyance. "Where is he?" Knives groaned.  
  
"Legato was supposed to meet us here after he was done getting my brother to not kill him! Where could he be?" Chapel shrugged.  
  
"Perhaps Vash has sinned." Knives rolled his head to look at his companion. "Vash? Kill? Don't make me laugh."  
  
"Men and morals are always in danger of..."  
  
"Can it, church man. If I wanted a sermon I would have stayed with Vash." "Well, he is his brother's keeper."  
  
The click of the hammer pulling back on Knives' revolver was not lost on Chapel. He said nothing more on the subject. Knives returned the gun to it's holster at his waist. He took the hat off his head and looked at it for a moment. Then, he seemed to remember something important. He sat up with a start. "Oh, did I tell you how I got this hat?" "No." replied Chapel, not turning around or so much as raising his head. "Some cowboy came through the other day and said he's fought my brother, but wanted to kill me."  
  
"So you killed him and took his hat."  
  
Chapel sounded almost disappointed. Knives nodded with a grin.  
  
"He said Vash is in Cimarron."  
  
Chapel looked back over his shoulder.  
  
"Oh really?" "I want you to ride out and sniff around. Try and find Legato. If Vash is alive and sane, Legato hasn't done anything yet, and I want to know why."  
  
Chapel nodded. "After I finish my duties here."  
  
Knives shrugged.  
  
"Suits me fine. I'm going to go lay up at the saloon for a few days. I think the regular priest is gonna' throw me out once you're gone."  
  
"Why don't you just kill him?"  
  
"Tempting, but then people start lookin' for him, and I have to kill them. Then more people look for them. I don't have enough bullets to kill all of Santa Fe."  
  
"We need to find more bullets."  
  
"Later, John, later. Wait until we're done with Vash. Once he's dead, we'll murder everyone from here to Los Angeles, hell, the entire damn West, and there'll be no one to slow us down."  
  
They had agreed to ride out from Cimarron that day, Meryl remembered. She hung on tightly to Vash's arm as it curled around her waist, his face nuzzling into her hair, the rhythm of his breathing. Sunlight streamed in through the window. Slowly, she worked her way out of the bed, careful not to wake Vash. She changed from her nightshirt into her day clothes, and left the saloon.  
  
A dark figure appeared on the horizon, walking towards town. He wore a simple black priest's coat, over which one usually found a voluminous white sheet or robe, that clung tightly to his chest and arms, and was buttoned up to his neck, where a high collar rose on his throat. On his head was a black bowler hat and over his eyes were a pair of dark glasses. Strapped across his back was a large cross. He walked with one white-gloved hand in his pocket, another holding the strap by which he carried his cross. Waterskins were slung around his neck, and a bag hung from his waist that most likely carried food. Meryl shaded the sun with one hand. She felt that she might as well welcome this new fellow to the town, even though they had only spent a few weeks there to recover from their near-death under the desert sun. She waited by the well as he approached. Once he was a few yards away, he tipped his hat to her, then dropped his bag into the dirt, dropping the waterskins on top of it.  
  
"Good day, ma'am."  
  
"Hello, stranger. Welcome to Cimarron."  
  
He nodded and winched up the well bucket, drinking deeply from it. When it was empty, he dropped it back down, and chuckled to himself.  
  
"The light of God quenches my thirst and fills my belly, but water is still nice when I get into town."  
  
Vash stretched as he sat up in bed, and pulled his coat on over his pajamas. Pulling on his boots, he walked out of the room and towards the saloon exit.  
  
He turned to look at her.  
  
"Say, you wouldn't know where I could find a man by the name of Vash, would you? I've been sent by his brother."  
  
Vash had a brother? Meryl was surprised to hear that.  
  
"Why, sure. He's inside the saloon there..."  
  
Vash chose that moment to stride out the batwing doors. He stopped dead as they closed behind him. Chapel swore as he saw Vash. He flicked the release on his cross, the two rifles separating and falling neatly into his hands.  
  
"What the..." Meryl started. "Meryl! Get down!" Moving with lightening speed, Chapel whirled Meryl around and pulled her close, using her as a human shield. He jammed the left gun into Meryl's chin, and pointed the other in Vash's general direction. Vash drew and leveled his gun at them both. "I suggest you turn around and walk back into that saloon, Vash, before I kill this woman and this entire town. I'm not here to fight you."  
  
Vash's gunsights drew a neat bead on Chapel's left hand. He couldn't shoot Meryl without a trigger finger. "Drop the gun, Vash. I will kill her, if you try anything." Vash swore. It was too risky. He would have to disarm Chapel completely to keep Meryl safe, but two shots might come too slowly. He raised his gun, pointing it away from Chapel. His arms slowly moved into the air. "That's right. Now drop it." Chapel said, sweat beading on his brow. Vash's gun dropped to the dirt.  
  
"Kick it away."  
  
It bounced a good ten feet out of reach. "Now you're unarmed! Maybe I will kill everyone after all!" "Vash! Help!" Meryl's eyes welled up in fear. "Meryl..." Vash whispered to himself. "And she means so much to you, it seems! Why, think of the suffering it would cause if I were to..."  
  
"Stop!" Vash yelled, and took a step forward.  
  
"The Lord shows no mercy to those that oppose his will. Perhaps I won't kill her... If your life pays the forfeit."  
  
"No!" Meryl yelled.  
  
Vash began to walk towards Chapel. Chapel began to sweat again. If Vash got too close, he would easily be able to disarm him, but if he killed the woman, he would lose his last reason to keep from fighting Vash. Vash might even kill him. He swallowed. "No. I can't allow either of those to happen..." "Freeze! No sudden moves, there, Vash the Stampede, or your lover will join the Father in Heaven."  
  
Vash stopped. Chapel made up his mind. He fired a round. Vash cried out and clutched his leg, falling over in the dirt. Meryl cried his name. "Now, I think I'll kill you."  
  
Bang. Chapel's grip on Meryl loosened for a moment, then went completely slack, the guns dropping from his hands. She ran to Vash's side, helping him to his feet and helping him walk. The town sheriff stood on the porch of his office, a smoking pistol in one hand, to match the smoking hole in the back of Chapel's head.  
  
Vash lay on the doctor's cot, biting on a bullet and wincing as the surgeon dug through his leg, searching for the second bullet lodged within. Meryl sat in a chair in the front room, listening. She couldn't look. Vash had almost died today, because of her. He's had to kill a man, because of her. So far, she hadn't done anything but cause him trouble. Guilt wracked her heart as she listened to Vash's moans, and she put her head in her hands, the palms grinding into her eyes, tears dripping from them and rolling down her wrists. She couldn't stand it. She couldn't stand to hear him in this much pain...  
  
After his leg was bandaged up, she walked to the chair next to the cot and sat down. Sunlight streamed in a single window, but otherwise the room was dark. The doctor had stepped out on a house call, and they were alone. "What did he say?"  
  
"He says I won't be able to walk for a few days, and that it really wasn't that bad. It didn't hit anything major. I'll be all right."  
  
"Vash... I'm so sorry."  
  
He smiled.  
  
"It's O.K., really." The guilt returned, along with the tears. "No, Vash, it's not. You almost died today, because of me. All I've done, ever since we started crossing the desert, is hurt you. Maybe not directly, but it's what I've done. It was because of me that you had to Legato, and it was because of me that you're here right now!" Even now, she could see Vash remember that, and the pain it caused him, even though he tried to hide it.  
  
"Meryl, what do mean? It's not..."  
  
She cut him off.  
  
"I'm riding back to Louisiana."  
  
There was silence in the room for a moment.  
  
"Meryl, you can't..."  
  
"I can't see you get hurt anymore!" "But, still, that doesn't mean you have to leave!" She was crying harder. She stood up, and ran out the door.  
  
"Meryl, wait! Meryl!"  
  
She slammed the door behind her. Inside, she heard a noise that hurt her even more than hearing his moans of pain earlier. Vash the Stampede was crying.  
  
Vash couldn't leave the bed to say goodbye to her, or follow her, or convince her to stay, and Meryl felt that that was best. Silently, she saddled up her horse, filled her waterskins, and rode out of Cimarron, back the way she had come.  
  
A few days passed. She knew what was ahead of her, the empty city, now probably half-buried in sand. She hadn't reached it yet, but dreaded passing through. Legato's corpse was still unburied, and she didn't want to see it as she rode by. The day was just like any other, the desert sun beating down on her, rocks and scrubgrass passing her by as she rode. Then, she saw the most unusual thing. A figure stood on the horizon. As she got closer, she could see that it was a man with no horse, simply walking across the desert heat. Who could do that, though? Closer, and began to see the details of the man. He carried no supplies, no food or water. She shaded her eyes with the palm of her hand to get a better look. "No. That's impossible..."  
  
Vash sat outside the surgeon's office, watching the town go about it's business. He could walk now, but not too far. It would still be another day or two before he could ride. He thought about Meryl constantly for the past few days, his grief nearly consuming him. He swore to himself, after this was all over, he would go back for her. But first, he needed to go to Santa Fe. Everything was going to end in Santa Fe. 


	4. Chapter 4: They Live!

The same infinite blackness.  
  
"Poor Vash. Why can't we go easier on him?"  
  
"Because it's the beauty of tragedy."  
  
"At least it's not Kikaider. Man, Jiro's a loser."  
  
"Don't say that!"  
  
"He is! 'Oh, I'm a sentient robot. I'll never find love.' Compelling, but STILL! C-3P0   
  
was less annoying."  
  
Vash the Stampede rode beneath the New Mexico sun, his glasses hiding his eyes from   
  
no one. He watched the rode ahead of him unwaveringly, watching for the next town.   
  
Santa Fe. He was close, now, very close. This was where Knives would make his last   
  
stand. Knives' gang was dead, as much as Vash regretted it, it was a fact, and Vash   
  
would have to stop Knives himself, now. He would not kill his brother, but somehow, he   
  
would make sure he was stopped.  
  
Meryl had beaten Vash to Santa Fe. She had been brought with the swiftness of the dead.   
  
At the moment she slept in a barn at the edges of the city, curled into a ball on the hay. A   
  
lone figure stood at the door. She had refused to sleep while he was there, so he had left,   
  
but came back again. He watched her sleep with an idle fascination. Here was the woman   
  
that Vash loved. He had her here, completely at his mercy. But oh, what to do, what to   
  
do? As he thought, Meryl awoke, screaming. He laughed at this, amused by her, this   
  
woman's fear and suffering. The entertained him. He smiled and looked at her with   
  
cloudy, murky eyes. His appearance disgusted her, he knew, but it was necessary. There   
  
was no way to fight how his body appeared. She looked back at him with eyes full of   
  
fear. She tried to move away, tried to escape from him. He laughed. Why did she not   
  
understand that if he was going to kill her, he would have when he'd seen her under the   
  
desert heat? He took a step closer, the tendons and joints in his legs audibly creaking, and   
  
chuckled to himself. Fluid dribbled down into his eye, and he blinked it away.  
  
"Now, now, child. There is no reason to fear me. I will not kill you."  
  
She still cowered. He could hear her whispering prayers beneath her breath. He laughed   
  
more loudly.  
  
"You- You're a monster!"  
  
"I'm no monster. I have achieved true peace, so that I can achieve my goal, my purpose."  
  
He lowered his voice to a whisper.  
  
"Murder."  
  
His laughter and Meryl's screams filled the barn.  
  
Vash rode past the final milestone. Santa Fe was five miles ahead on the road. It was after   
  
noon. Vash would not make it. He had been to Santa Fe before...  
  
Flash.  
  
"Hello, brother."  
  
Flash.  
  
A man lying facedown on a desk, all the answers Vash wanted bleeding out of him.   
  
Knives standing by the window, smiling.  
  
Flash!  
  
Knives leapt at Vash, inhumanly fast, inhumanly strong.  
  
FLASH!  
  
Vash was falling, broken glass surrounding him, tears streaming from his eyes and blood   
  
from a hole in his gut.  
  
Vash shook his head, trying to forget his memories. Santa Fe had prospered because it   
  
was next to the only river that ran through the New Mexico desert. It ran dry a few miles   
  
away, the heat sapping up the water as it got further away from the mountains that fed it,   
  
but the river, short as it may be, stayed full all season, allowing the town to grow. The   
  
area just outside of town was lush, grassy, and kindly serene. That was where Vash   
  
would make camp tonight. He continued riding. Short brown grass became green, and it   
  
grew. Bushes and shrubs became trees, and before long, Vash heard the blessed sound of   
  
running water. He rode his horse up to the water's very edge, and waved at another   
  
encampment on the other side of the river, a man chopping wood (who didn't notice   
  
him), the sound of the ax splitting the logs ringing across the forest, while his wife   
  
cooked dinner and daughter played. He dropped from his horse and began to unpack,   
  
smiling as he heard the young girl's laughter. As Vash pitched his tent, he heard the man   
  
sigh. With a final 'whap', he embedded the ax in the nearest unfelled tree. Vash tossed   
  
his things inside and sniffed the air, his nose filled with the scent wafting from the pot on   
  
the other side of the river.  
  
Vash was very hungry.  
  
"Hey!"  
  
The man cracked one eye from where he had been napping beneath the tree and cast it   
  
over the river at where Vash stood.  
  
"Who are you?"  
  
"Oh, just a stranger. I was hoping you might be able to spare a bite to eat!"  
  
Those words rattled inside the man's head.  
  
"Oh, I'm just a stranger."  
  
Another day, so many years ago. He had been saved, had escaped and ridden into the   
  
sunset, he had been saved from that brothel in New York...  
  
Julius nearly leapt high enough to get stuck in the tree.  
  
"Jesus Christ! Vash the Stampede!"  
  
Vash raised his eyebrows.  
  
"Do I know you?"  
  
"You'd better! You saved me! And Moore! In New York! Four years ago, don't you   
  
remember?"  
  
Moore's head rose from inside the tent, where she had lain their daughter down for a nap.  
  
"What, now?"  
  
Realization dawned on Vash.  
  
"Julius! You..."  
  
He was at a mild loss for words. The boy had grown up so much in four years!  
  
"Um... Nice beard."  
  
"And you haven't changed a bit! Come on!"  
  
The sun set that night as they ate. They each huddled around Julius' campfire, Julius and   
  
Moore's daughter staring wide-eyed at Vash, who, as her father told it, had saved her   
  
mommy and daddy from a terrible, terrible place. She asked him to tell the story again   
  
and again.  
  
"And then you tricked the bad men, right Uncle Vash?"  
  
Vash laughed and cast a look over at Moor and Julius.  
  
"Uncle Vash?" He whispered.  
  
Julius shrugged. After a few (dozen) more tellings of Uncle Vash's stories and many   
  
heroic deeds, the little girl gave a deep yawn. Moore shook her head.  
  
"Time to go to bed, Virginia."  
  
The girl shook her head.  
  
"I'm not sleepy, though, mommy."  
  
"Come on. Bed time."  
  
The girl pouted, but went with her mother anyway. This left Vash and Julius alone. Vash   
  
was suddenly deadly serious. They both stared into the fire for a few moments.  
  
"Julius."  
  
The man looked up at Vash.  
  
"Why are you here? In New Mexico, I mean."  
  
Julius' answer came almost immediately.  
  
"Land. I'm going to work the land here, in Santa Fe. We ride into town tomorrow to pick   
  
up the deeds. I was cutting wood for our house today."  
  
Vash nodded.  
  
"I want you to wait one more day before you go into town."  
  
Julius furrowed his brow.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because by the end of tomorrow, there may not be a Santa Fe."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"I'm not going to tell you who or what, but promise me you'll stay out of Santa Fe   
  
tomorrow. You might be used against me."  
  
Julius nodded. He seemed to understand by Vash's tone that this was much bigger than   
  
him and his family. The deeds could wait one day.  
  
"I promise."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
Vash stood and disappeared into the night.  
  
Vash awoke the next day. Sunlight lit the canvas of his tent. He stretched and pulled on   
  
his coat. His ear twitched.  
  
Something was terribly, terribly wrong.  
  
No bird sang, no cricket chirped, and no sound came from Julian's camp. The only sound   
  
was that of the running water of the river. Vash holstered his gun and cautiously pulled   
  
back the tent flap. No threat away from the river.  
  
A chilling laugh rippled through the forest. Within an instant, Vash had drawn, and had   
  
leveled his gun at the man. He did not stand by the river. Instead, he levitated above it,   
  
his tattered coat billowing out on an invisible wind. Vash could see that much of his skin   
  
had been tanned to a dark, brittle leather after being left in the sun for so many days with   
  
no nourishment, while other parts of him were rotting away. His dark hair had lost it's   
  
shine, and the tips of a few of his fingers had fallen away, showing the mottled gray bone   
  
beneath. Fluid dribbled into his eye from a prominent hole in his forehead, and the skull   
  
on his left shoulder shone as brightly as ever. Legato Blue Rivers, the living dead,   
  
levitated before Vash. He laughed.  
  
"Legato! How... How can you..."  
  
Legato stopped laughing, although a maniacal grin spread across his face.  
  
"The Great Spirit simply heard my prayer. As I have revived many others, so I brought   
  
myself back to walk the Earth and pursue my destiny."  
  
Legato lowered himself to the riverbank.  
  
"What have you done with Julius and Moore?"  
  
Legato laughed again.  
  
"Are you really that concerned with them. Perhaps you should be more concerned with   
  
someone else."  
  
Vash leveled his gun at Legato's heart. Deep inside, he knew what Legato had to mean.  
  
"Yes... Yes..."  
  
Legato closed his eyes, savoring what he felt.  
  
"Let the dread close over your soul like a black cloud. As a matter of fact, you aren't far   
  
from the truth. Watch."  
  
A body dropped from a nearby limb, wordlessly. It hung beneath the limb from a rope   
  
around it's neck. Silent. Dead. Vash's mouth opened and closed wordlessly. His gun   
  
dropped from his hands. Meryl hung from the branch, her eyes open and her mouth in an   
  
expression of utmost horror. Then, it vanished. Vash was left crying over the illusion   
  
Legato had spun.  
  
"You're a fool, Vash the Stampede."  
  
The tears stopped falling. Vash snatched up his gun and fired once, the bullet piercing   
  
Legato's heart, practically liquidating the muscle. Legato did not so much as flinch.  
  
"Vash, you have already killed me once. How do you expect to kill me again?"  
  
Yet, as though the gunshot had been an ending, the cause of her freedom, Meryl ran from   
  
among the trees towards Vash. She cried out his name. He looked towards her. Yards   
  
away from him, she was snapped up by Legato's invisible arms, and thrown like a doll   
  
into the river.  
  
"No, no. That game can wait for later. First, I have something even better."  
  
Another body levitated from the dense brush. Little Virginia hung in the air next to   
  
Legato, oddly serene.  
  
"She's still alive, I assure you. However, that remains a temporary condition. Julius, you   
  
may enter."  
  
Julius stepped out from behind a tree; his ax held firmly, tears in his eyes.  
  
"Vash..."  
  
Something was missing from this scene, even as sadistic as it was. Legato never   
  
overlooked something so obvious.  
  
"Where's Moore?"  
  
Julius did not say anything. Legato would not have killed Moore, not without making   
  
Vash watch, he understood that much of the man's mind. So where was she? Vash didn't   
  
waste the effort of pointing his gun at Legato, or even threatening him. He knew he   
  
would get the same answer any way.  
  
"Moore has done enough. All I needed her for was to convince Julius that I could truly   
  
ruin his life."  
  
Vash lowered his eyes. Legato had done unspeakable things to them, this creature from   
  
beyond the grave. How could he? How could he hurt people like this? Julius did not   
  
move as those Legato controlled directly. He still had his free will. And he stepped closer   
  
to Vash, his ax held high.  
  
"Vash, I'm sorry. He'll kill Virginia unless..."  
  
Vash looked up again at Julius and nodded.  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
Julius came within arm's reach of Vash. Vash serenely holstered his gun.  
  
"Vash, I'm so sorry."  
  
He raised his ax.  
  
Bang.  
  
The top half of Julius' ax flipped end over end, landing in the river, the head embedding   
  
itself in the mud, the shaft rising out of the water. Julius' eyes widened as he looked   
  
down at Vash's smoking gun.  
  
"No!" He cried. He looked to his daughter, dangling precariously in the air.  
  
"Virginia!"  
  
Legato cackled.  
  
"I believe that you haven't failed me yet, Julius. The deal still stands. Kill Vash the   
  
Stampede, your daughter will live, and your... other... child will be erased from   
  
existence."  
  
Vash saw images flash behind Julius' eyes as he stared at Legato with nothing but pure   
  
hate. He faced Vash again and gripped his new club with one hand before he charged at   
  
Vash. Vash dodged Julius' first blow. He raised his gun again and fired two shots at   
  
Legato; these aimed at the skull he wore. Watching closely, he saw them swerve away   
  
through Legato's abilities, one flying harmlessly by, the other entering his body just   
  
below the charm. A punch from Julius sent Vash reeling, his gun bouncing away into the   
  
brush.  
  
Meryl watched Vash from where she had been cast into the river. She had watched   
  
Legato torture Julius, terrified. She had been tortured by him, pain wracking her body   
  
from nothing more than a pointed finger, though she had been spared the horror he had   
  
committed, the final torture he had given to both Julius and his wife... And now he would   
  
hurt Vash just as he had hurt them all, except he planned to kill him.  
  
No. She would not let that happen. Vash had fallen. Julius beat him, dropping blow after   
  
blow on Vash's body, his tears mixing with Vash's blood. Meryl stood. Legato watched   
  
them, too entranced to notice she had moved he was in a strange thrall. She watched the   
  
men, then looked at Legato, then Virginia, hanging over the river, and just beneath her...   
  
The ax. She waded over to where it lay, and gripped it firmly by the splintered shaft. She   
  
wrenched it free from where it had embedded itself in the mud. It came free, and she   
  
turned towards Legato. He still had his back turned to her. She raised the ax, carrying it   
  
so that she was ready to strike with the flat back of the head, not the blade. With a yell,   
  
she brought it down at the skull Legato wore. She felt some charm, some force, pushing it   
  
away, trying to slide her blow away, fighting to preserve itself. No, it was fighting to   
  
preserve Legato. She threw everything she could into the blow, forcing down, reaching...   
  
The ax stopped, hovering within millimeters of the charm. Legato smiled.  
  
"You thought you could catch me off guard."  
  
Meryl reached deep within herself. One last bit of strength, anything... Vash looked at her   
  
out of the corner of his eye as the blows fell on him. His gun lay within reach. He reached   
  
out for it, lifted, and lined up his shot.  
  
Click.  
  
Legato gasped. His world fell away as his eyes turned towards Vash.  
  
Bang.  
  
The bullet ricocheted off the blade of the ax, flying wildly away into the forest, and   
  
pushing the ax down, almost imperceptibly. It's corner lightly brushed the skull. Meryl's   
  
strength gave out, and she was cast backwards into the river. Dust rose from Legato's   
  
charm.  
  
"No..." He whispered.  
  
The skull crumbled to dust, blowing away on the wind. Legato's eyes widened, and   
  
inside them Vash saw the last emotion he had expected from Legato Blue Rivers. Fear.   
  
Legato fell backwards into the stream with a loud splash. Virginia dropped onto Meryl,   
  
who more-or-less caught the girl. Julius stopped his beating of Vash and resurveyed the   
  
scene. Even without taking time to fully understand what had happened, he ran for his   
  
daughter, sweeping her up in his arms and falling onto the far bank, holding her close and   
  
crying onto her shoulder, but now hew shed tears of joy. Meryl picked herself up, as did   
  
Vash, who was a bruised and bloody mess, cut along his face and arms. Warily, they   
  
approached Legato's corpse. His face was still frozen in that final look of stunned horror.   
  
Vash knelt by his side and passed a hand over his eyes with a sigh. He stood again. Meryl   
  
took his arm.  
  
"I'm glad you're all right." She whispered.  
  
Vash lowered his head and wrapped her into an embrace.  
  
"You too. Thank you, Meryl. You saved me."  
  
She smiled.  
  
They shared that moment, moving together into a long kiss. They stood there for an   
  
immeasurable time before they parted.  
  
"There's still one more thing I have to do.  
  
Meryl nodded. Knives was waiting.  
  
"Go then. I'll wait for you."  
  
"I'll come back."  
  
Meryl nodded. Vash let go of her and turned away, walking to the road, and towards   
  
Santa Fe.  
  
"Ave Maria, gratia plena,"  
  
Knives sat in the same pew of the same church, rosary beads draped over his right hand.  
  
"Dominus tecum; Benedicta tu in mulieribus et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Iesus."   
  
The priest lay slumped over the altar, dead.  
  
"Sancta Maria, Mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc et in hora mortis nostrae."  
  
Other than that, Knives was alone, waiting for Vash. Waiting.  
  
"Amen." 


	5. Chapter 5

I wish I would have met you,

Now it's a little late.

What you could have taught me,

I could have saved some face.

They think that your early ending,

Was all wrong.

For most part they're right,

But look how they all got strung.

That's why I saw hey man, nice shot.

What a good shot, man.

That's why I saw hey man, nice shot.

What a good shot, man.

Nice shot.

Vash walked beneath the setting sun, desert sand beneath his boots. He was still bleeding from various wounds, bruises forming on his face. His sunglasses were firmly planted across his nose. The streets of Santa Fe drew closer, the churches, businesses, governor's office... he knew them all by heart. His gun swung by his hip. His mind focused on one thing, and one thing only. Knives. Knives was waiting for him here, ready for the final battle. The final duel. Vash's last fight, no matter how it ended. A wind blew the dust across his face, sticking in the blood that trickled down from a cut near his eye. Vash passed through the outskirts of town and began to walk down the main street, coming up on the general store.

  
Knives could feel it. Today was the day. Vash was coming. Knives leaned on the outer wall of the church he had been sleeping in since he first felt Vash's presence. It would all be over before anyone would find the bodies. Knives took a deep draw on his cigarette and blew a smoke ring. He wore two guns now, both on the same belt, the right slung low, the left properly at his hip. The man with no name's hat still sat on his head. The tobacco ember nearly burned his lips as it crawled up the paper. He dropped the stub in the dirt and ground it out with his boot heel, and started to walk towards the town square. Soon, very soon. He watched a young girl pass by on the sidewalk. He pulled the brim of the hat over his eyes as he passed her, his left hand hanging onto it, his right silently, unnoticeably pulling the hammer back on his gun. His mind filled with the vision of drawing, putting a bullet between her eyes before she even saw her insignificant life flash before them. The rush of the kill, true euphoria. No. Not yet. As she continued past him, he eased the hammer forward again, pulling the hat brim back up and reaching into his jacket for another cigarette. Vash. He understood that Vash was no insignificant. Vash was the only one west of the Mississippi that stood a chance of bringing down Knives, he understood that. It wouldn't happen. He struck a match across his teeth to light the cigarette. Taking another long draw, he turned the corner from the general store onto main street, and there, walking into town, was Vash. To the passerby, he seemed to be crying blood. Knives tossed his match in the dirt before he strode out into the middle of the intersection. Although the street was wide, Knives gave the impression of blocking Vash's path every bit as well as a brick wall. For a moment, they both said nothing. Then, Knives smiled, the paper still clenched between his teeth.

"So, you're finally here, brother."  
Vash did not reply. Knives squinted. The sun was setting behind his brother, making it hard to really see any definition. The red of the sky nearly matched his coat. Blood red.  
"What now, Vash? Care to come into the saloon for a beer? Maybe a hamburger? I'll buy."

Vash still did not reply. The blood from his eye dripped down his chin and into the sand.

"Still as silent as ever."  
The girl he had passed earlier rounded a corner, a basket full of groceries in her arms. So... beautiful. Knives grinned.  
"How about I loosen your tongue?"  
Knives' right hand moved in a perfect mirror with Vash's left. Knives drew and fired. The girl did not have time to realize he had moved before the bullet was streaking towards her head. Vash fired as well, compensating perfectly for the wind, distance, gravity, and speed of his target. Sparks appeared to explode out of thin air a foot away from the girl's nose. She screamed and dropped to the dirt. Anticipating his brother's action, Knives had already fanned his palm across the hammer, turning the revolver and readying a second shot. He squeezed the trigger before the girl's basket had touched the ground. With a bang that was almost indiscernible from the first, even with the flames and smoke of his first shot hanging around the muzzle of his gun, the girl fell, dark blood dripping from a hole between her now-empty eyes. Vash gritted his teeth and turned the gun towards Knives. Knives spat his cigarette out and ground it under the heel of his boot as his left hand went for his other gun. It was the beginning of the end.

A man has gun.

Hey, man, have fun.

  
Nice shot.

Vash fired. Knives dropped backwards, the bullet ripping a hole in his vest but leaving him unharmed. He pulled the hammers back on both his guns and fired. Vash turned his body to the side, backpedaling towards the general store, the bullets passing harmlessly through the space he'd been a moment before. Knives hit the dirt and came up in a roll, sending more bullets after Vash, shooting out the window of the saloon behind him. He backpedaled back to the barbershop across the street and rammed the door open with his shoulder, ignoring the screaming people inside. He smashed the window overlooking the street with the butt of one gun and aimed with the other. Vash dove through the glassless window of the saloon. A man lay on the floor, screaming as blood poured from his gut, the impact of one of Knives' stray bullets. The other patrons and the bartender cowered beneath tables. Knives fired from across the street. Another bullet tore through the wall. A woman fell from her crouch, clutching her leg. Both the brothers snapped their guns open, spent brass falling around their feet. Throwing in fresh bullets with a practiced reloading trick and closing the breach of his gun with a flick of the wrist, Vash fired at Knives, carefully aiming so that no innocent was behind his brother. Knives ducked, the bullet taking off his hat and dropping it on the barber shop floor. Knives returned with another shot, shattering a whisky bottle. They were going to get nowhere like this. Vash moved first, dashing across the street, emptying his gun again as Knives followed him, both barrels blazing. They took cover inside the next two corner stores, Vash crouching inside the general store, Knives having mistakenly dived into the sheriff's office. He quickly disposed of the sheriff before the overweight man could even register what was happening. He eyeballed a wanted poster with Vash's face on it, and put a smoking hole in that, too. The real Vash leaned around the doorframe of the general store, sending a few shots towards Knives. Knives leaned around the doorway of the sheriff's office, firing back and driving Vash away from a shooting position. He holstered his guns and gave a sly look behind him. A sheriff's office always had the right tool for the occasion.

Vash smashed out a window to shoot through, waiting for Knives to show his face again.  
BOOM!  
Vash swore as he dropped to the floor, the terrified cashier whispering prayers and the few customers covering their heads as a flurry of shotgun pellets filled the building, tearing open cans and jars. Liquid began to run across the floor towards Vash. Knives fired again, tearing the back wall even further apart. Knives continued firing as he ran out the door and began crossing the street, pinning Vash down. Once the gun was out of shells, Knives tossed it to the dirt and drew his revolvers again, raising the left towards the store. Vash popped up and fired at Knives, the bullet snapping the gun in his left hand over his shoulder and into the dirt. Knives rolled onto the porch as Vash fired again. He reached into the vest for his matches. Seizing one, he dragged it along the butt of his gun, lighting the tiny flame. He threw it over Vash's shoulder. It hit the floor, covered in strawberry preserves, oil, and gasoline.  
BOOM!

I wish I would have met you,

I wish I would have met you,

  
I wish I would have met you,

I'd say nice shot. 

The store ignited in a fireball, throwing Knives into the street. He stood, patting his singed clothes to make sure he wouldn't catch aflame. He looked up at the smoldering remains of the store. He could hear screams from inside as the occupants no doubt fought a futile battle for their lives. Knives smiled and took a cigarette from inside his vest, along with another match. He struck the match on the butt of his gun and raised it to the paper.

Bang. 

A bullet passed by his ear, close enough to blow out the delicate match flame. Knives' eyes widened as he looked at the burning building. Vash stood clearly in the center of the flames, tongues of fire licking around his boots, his gun held level with Knives' head.  
"Impossible."

Bang.

Vash stepped through the window, seemingly unaffected by the flames around him. His coat had been badly singed, blacked and in threat of bursting into flame. Knives knelt in the road, clutching his shoulder, blood running up his arm, his eyes twitching with the pain. He looked up at Vash, whose face was still every bit as grim and unemotional behind his sunglasses as when they'd begun.  
"How did you...?" Knives trailed off. He reached for his gun, clumsily pulling it halfway from the holster before Vash struck. Seizing Knives' gun with one hand, he slammed Knives across the face with his own, sending his brother into the dirt with a broken nose, his gun sliding from it's holster and bouncing out of his reach. Knives sat up, his eyes still showing the shock he felt, blood gushing from his nose. Then, his face went from shock to an animalistic rage. He reached for his boot, gripping a hidden knife. He raised it, leapt to his feet, and with a scream, brought it down. He plunged it into Vash's shoulder and withdrew it again. Vash did not move or so much as grunt as more blood stemmed from where the knife had struck. It had sliced through the bone, passing dangerously close to Vash's heart. Knives let out a short bark of a laugh as he took a step back from his brother, still holding his shoulder, wavering on his feet. 

Meryl sat beneath an oak tree, watching Orion fly across the heavens. Moonlight fell across her face, fallen leaves lay around her. A fire burned across the river. The din made by Julius' family was oddly gone, and she felt that it was for the better. There were two things that would happen as she waited. Either Vash would return to her, or Knives would step from the bushes to kill her and everyone he saw.

I wish I would have met you,

I wish I would have met you,

I wish I would have met you,

  
I'd say nice shot.

Vash pulled the hammer back on his revolver, bringing it to rest against Knives' forehead.

"It's over, Knives."

Knives closed his eyes and leaned against the barrel.

"You're right Vash. I was a fool."

Knives chuckled. Then he began to laugh. He lifted the knife behind his head, threatening to stab Vash again.

"Don't do it, Knives."

Knives began to laugh harder.

"Don't!"

One of Knives' hands went for the barrel of Vash's gun, the other began to lower the knife at Vash's heart. He pulled Vash's gun down to his own heart.  
"Knives!" Vash yelled, scolding his brother for what he knew was the last time. Knives laughed still harder.

Bang.

With a final bullet, a thousand families were avenged. Souls that watched the battle cried both for joy and sorrow, and as Legato fell towards Hell, he saw another that he recognized falling above him.

Knives' body fell back into the street, and Vash watched as the last of his manic glee disappeared from his eyes. The knife fell from his hands and rolled into the dirt. Knives Millions was dead. Vash silently holstered his gun. It was over. Vash reached out for the sense of emptiness he had expected, the sadness he'd felt at the taking of a life. It was there, but now... something held it at bay, something beautiful, a wall made of light.

Love. He realized it was love. Not just his love for Meryl, but what it had taught him. Love for her, but love for Knives as well, love for everyone, love for the world. It held back his sorrow, held back his pain, and for that he was grateful. Vash the Stampede walked back out of Santa Fe the way he had come, leaving the town, never to return.

Meryl watched the road intently. A lone figure appeared, trudging resolutely onward. She stood.  
"Vash?"

She received no reply.  
"Vash! Vash, is that you?"  
For a moment, fear wrenched her gut. It wasn't Vash. A laughing face flashed through her mind, an evil, maniacal Vash that came to kill her. Or it could be Legato, who was coming to take her with him to the land of the dead...

  
"Meryl..."  
"Vash!"  
  
She ran to him, throwing her arms up against his chest, holding her head against his blood-soaked chest. He struggled to wrap his arms around her.

"Vash, Vash, Vash, I'm so glad you're alive."  
Her own tears began to mix with Vash's blood. He kissed the top of her head, his pain seeming to melt away with her touch.

Beneath the stars, they stood like that for eternity.

The End


End file.
